


silk grass and cotton clouds

by gabriphales



Series: gomens drabble hell [80]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, Fluff and Smut, Gentle Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:14:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26089249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabriphales/pseuds/gabriphales
Summary: crowley insists upon a quickie in the bentley, and aziraphale torments him with a thoroughly sappy fuck
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: gomens drabble hell [80]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664713
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	silk grass and cotton clouds

"i love you, you know."

the words come out muffled against crowley's throat, wet and soft when conjoined with the gentle press of aziraphale's lips, his tongue, his holy, heaven sent mouth.

"more than anything." he whispers, tracing over the firm outline that makes up crowley's adam's apple with his teeth. it's nothing more than a simple graze, a shy, hesitant touch. but it makes crowley desperate for him, keening in the bentley's backseats, squirming without repair.

"want you to fuck me," he says. "right here, make me feel it."

and aziraphale smiles down at him, sighing sweetly. "i suppose i have no choice but to indulge you. though i should have you know, it is _exceptionally_ difficult moving around in such a cramped space."

"i'll forgive you if you break anything," crowley laughs, clinging onto him tighter. "promise."

"i know you would. you've always forgiven me."

"do _not,_ " crowley scolds him. "we are not getting sentimental in the middle of a backseat quickie, alright?"

aziraphale doesn't say another word, rolling his eyes as he gets to the nitty gritty business of somehow managing to shuffle a six foot serpent out of his too-small jeans. in the end, crowley wiggles just right to peel himself completely free, taking advantage of the newfound exposure by wrapping his thighs around aziraphale's hips, squeezing fiercely.

"crowley," aziraphale giggles, letting himself be enveloped, grasped like a cradle keeps hold of a child. "are you quite sure you're all prepped?"

"'s a cunt, 'ziraphale. don't need to get fingered open, just want you." crowley says, steadily dozing into the drowsy, hazelike state of knowing he's going to be taken care of, properly nurtured, held and praised and _fucked,_ fucked into like he's everything. like he put the sun and the stars in the sky. which, he'll admit, he does take partial credit for. 

aziraphale takes him as readily as he'd opened himself, pushing in with the force of a lover spare despair. his mouth takes grasp of crowley's, and his tongue presses as his cock does, forcing crowley to adjust, to _yearn,_ yearn for the gentle pleasure of respite. he can hardly breathe, but it doesn't matter. not with aziraphale inside him, not with aziraphale's tongue down his throat, making him feel everything.

"i adore you," his angel whispers. "i want you to know that." 

"then show me." crowley tells him. 

aziraphale's hands settle at the jaunting angles of his hipbones, his thumbs molding soft skin beneath his grip. he thrusts just that _little_ bit harder, and crowley's breath starts to hitch - he claws for the air to gasp, his throat pulsing on an empty moan. aziraphale doesn't let up, he holds crowley down, pursuing the tender intimacy that only a warm, lazy fuck can endure.

"love you," he says. "more and more, every day i love you more."

crowley doesn't respond, too consumed with whining, whimpering into aziraphale's shoulder. he ruts down to meet aziraphale's thrusts, flinching the first time they roll entirely in sync. aziraphale makes sure to hold him tighter then, never once letting go. not while it's clear crowley still needs him.

"come on, sweetheart," he croons, his voice dove-soft and pure silk to crowley's ringing ears. "be a good boy, let me see you cum for me."

gripping patent leather seats, and gulping down air that sends chills through his overheating body, crowley complies. the only thing more dizzying than hitting his own high being the feeling of aziraphale's following soon after. wet warmth streaked down his thighs, the filthiest declaration of love, of being _claimed._

crowley's all too happy to belong to him.

**Author's Note:**

> one of these days im just going to die in the middle of writing w/ writers block but in the mean time enjoy ur food dont forget to eat ur veggies


End file.
